


hold me close, hold me fast

by cherripepsy



Category: DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Character Death, Growing Old, Heavy Angst, M/M, Multiverse, No Proofreading We Die Like Men, Philosophy, Soulmates, also kinda bc i briefly mention free will vs determinism so pat on the back right there, and as always:, kinda tho its not really delved into within the work itself, like repeatedly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:15:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23996614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherripepsy/pseuds/cherripepsy
Summary: aka Five Worlds in Which I Die in Your Arms, And the One Where I Don'tIn Dark Knights: Metal, volume 5, the Batman Who Laughs brings up the idea of "multiversal" constants. What if Clark or Bruce dying in the other's arms (or even together) was a sense of order in the chaos of multiple universes?
Relationships: Clark Kent & Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 8
Kudos: 61





	hold me close, hold me fast

**i.**

In one world it's slow burn love. Clark isn’t very fond of Batman, Bruce likewise distrusts Superman. One night, at the end of a feud neither of them quite remember, they decide that identities are a tricky thing and maybe they’re both playing a character they don’t really believe in. Clark lives with the unbearable fact of invincibility but he can’t save everyone ( _Bruce_ knows he’ll never accept the latter half of that statement). Bruce, being the hypocrite he is, lies to himself about his abilities but at some point it’ll get him killed ( _Clark_ knows he’ll never accept the latter half of that statement). Lots of people joked of their duality, a difference like night and day. That night, the one they don’t quite remember, also ended in the realization that they’re more like a coin -- heads and tails. Bruce didn’t like the image given his rogues gallery, but he couldn’t deny it.

And soon their Watchtower duties coincided with one another more. Batman’s stakeouts weren’t in isolation when Robin was out with the Teen Titans. Superman found himself in the Cave more often than not to ask for detective help. Spending that much time with a “coworker”, as they so lovingly called each other, was bound to affect the schedules of their civilian counterparts. Wednesdays were for pies, short visits to a café just between Metropolis and Gotham where Clark always got apple and Bruce cherry, that they always covered up as get-togethers to discuss upcoming League agendas. They always seemed to end in small talk though. Nothing is off limits in these conversations.

And soon you can’t shrug off the homo-romantic subtext of sharing laughs and long gazes with your friend over _pies_. Their first “date” doesn’t even feel like one. What are you supposed to do with the person you’ve openly declared your love for when you’ve really loved them this whole time, without saying it? They’re ten years older than when they started crime fighting and they still don’t know the answer. 

It’s only when Clark is holding a dying Bruce in his arms, at what is seemingly the end of the world, that he thinks he knows how to respond.

“I-I think our love is just touching,” Clark presses his nose into Bruce’s tousled and soot covered hair, and adds, “even if it’s just knees.”

Bruce laughs and Clark can feel his ribs crackling underneath his hands. There’s a small gurgle from what Clark can only assume is the blood in Bruce’s mouth. “You need sun,” he notes.

“I wouldn’t make the trip,” Clark whispers and gazes down at the deep gash in his abdomen. For the first time since Doomsday, he felt pain.

“Try. I would never forgive you if you left humanity like this.”

“I thought you said I can’t save everyone.”

“It’s armageddon, Clark. I can make an exception,” Bruce wheezes. He decides to stay quiet so as to not strain him.

It’s only been ten minutes before Bruce breaks the silence. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Clark coughs.

“Everything. You said,” there’s a wet cough and Clark winces in pain, “th-that we showed love in touch?”

“Yes.”

With no further words Bruce clutched Clark’s hand in his, right against his ribs and took his last breaths.

  
  
  


**ii.**

In another world it’s like everything is in reverse because one moment Bruce and Clark are happy with each other and in the next they are decidedly _not._ And Bruce wonders day in and day out if Jason was really right about the Joker all along, but everytime Clark appears in the news, with a new dead hero pinned to his name, he dispells his own doubts. It’s an upward battle in every sense of the phrase. He doesn’t think he ever _loved_ Clark, but in the face of a man he barely recognizes yet bears the same face and name, his mind always wanders back to the days they spent together _before_ Lois. Bruce now begins to wonder how things would have turned out if he hadn’t denied him.

The Insurgency makes a valiant effort and forces Clark into shambles. He returns and thanks to Brainiac their ensuing squabble ends with a much slimmer victory. The third battle is when Bruce manages to come to terms with his reality.

There was only one resolution to it all. With a fist finding its home in Bruce’s gut, with green kryptonite lodged in Clark’s heart. Neither of them cry out when it happens but Bruce is thankful that his cowl is pulled back at the moment. His relief is visible.

“Is this what you wanted all along?” Clark asks.

“I could have killed Joker, all those years ago, if I died with him,” he manages to bite the words out.

It takes Clark some thought to say this next. “I regret ever loving you.”

Bruce smiles, can only smile. He lets Clark have the last word as a small victory to make up for his losses. They’re found bloodied in each other’s embrace.

  
  
  


**iii.**

In this one, a ship sinks. And as it does, Clark and Bruce, both strangers to each other, know how Titanic esque it all is. Currently they’re wading through _very_ cold waters and Clark wishes that he was immune to it all. But he’s only human.

“Th-this shouldn’t h-have happened,” the man shivers besides him. 

Clark wants to ask _Isn’t it more dangerous to drive in a car?_ for confirmation but he finds that his lips refuse to move and make words. He doesn’t even know what they’re swimming towards. He’d found the man passed out and sinking as the hull of the ship tipped over and took the whole mass down with it. The lifeboats were all manned and rowing across the Atlantic. They’d slowed significantly in their swimming but he was thankfully that they were both equipped with life vests. (It was really cruel and ironic that everything that was meant to save someone from dying in the event of an accident had the word “life” in it because Clark wasn’t too sure how well surviving would go for him).

The man next to him stops. “H-hey,” Clark stills and grabs at him. “W-w-we gotta keep moving.”

“I can’t.”

“We h-have to.”

“Cold.”

Clark can only nod at that. “Moving makes it b-better.”

“We’re t-t-too far out.”

He knows he’s right but doesn’t want to admit it. Swimming would only buy them a minute or more of breathing. There wasn’t much left to hope for. He lets himself give in and pulls the body in front of him closer. The man doesn’t protest but whether it’s because he physically can’t or because he’s welcoming what little warmth he can, Clark doesn’t know.

“Name’s Bruce,” the man (now with a name) says. He clutches onto Clark’s shoulders and Clark lets his own arms slip under and pull closer.

“Clark.”

“I l-l-like it.”

“M-me too,” Clark attempts a smile. “I w-want to t-t-talk more but--”

Bruce just nods knowingly. Clark is thankful that he’ll go out with someone nice. They let the shorty and steady waves bob them along. It’s been an hour since the sinking. His eyes are beginning to droop and a quick look at Bruce tells him that he’s having the same issue. Right when he thinks he’s about to fall asleep, Bruce shakes his shoulders a little bit. He gazes down at him questioningly.

“D-d-did we f-f-find each other?” Bruce asks. He’s turned paler than when Clark first found him. His lips have started to turn into a ghastly shade of blue. Clark finds himself upset with the fact that he’ll never know what he looked like on a good day.

He ponders the question and in the coming moments he feels a sense of revelation that he’s never had before. Stronger than an epiphany and scarier than the time he realized all living things died. Maybe they met at the end of the world.

“Yes,” Clark decides, and he doesn’t stutter when he says this. He’s so sure of it, so much so that he wants to make sure Bruce hears him clear, that the universe hears him loud and _clear_. It is the last thing either of them hear. They die warmed and are found cold.

  
  
  


**iv.**

In the next, they’re still without costumes. Krypton never imploded, Crime Alley was not a tragedy. Kal-El grew to become a diplomat for Terran relations and the house of El itself grew in esteem because of his father’s forebodings. He travels between the two planets regularly with Adam Strange by his side. Bruce Wayne is not the head of Wayne Enterprises, but he doesn’t stay in med school either and much to everyone’s surprise moves into the education field. As a third grade teacher. Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, and Tim Drake are among his students as years pass by. The monotonous schedules of their lives suit them well until a stormy night comes to pass and Kal has lost communication with Strange and wouldn’t you know it, Bruce’s house is right behind him.

“I apologize for the intrusion, but my phone’s dead and I really--”

“You’re soaking _wet_ ,” Bruce dully notes and ushers in the stranger. 

“It’s really okay,” Kal laughs, “I don’t want to ruin your carpets.”

“You can use the phone once you’re dry.”

And after a half hour of toweling and wringing his pull over, Kal is allowed to sit down with a hot mug of tea pushed into his hands and a phone settled right beside him. Bruce sits parallel to him with his legs crossed and a complimentary cup in his hand.

Kal immediately presses the rim of the mug to his lips. “Careful, it’s--” Bruce warns but Kal has already taken a gulp of the beverage as if it were room temperature water.

“...hot,” Bruce finishes.

It’s really a wonder how close two _beings_ can get by just talking to each other. Bruce remains in awe of Kal’s home planet and Kal likewise can’t help but fawn over the fact that Bruce educates children (he even calls it _“the most admirable job anyone could attain”_ ). Kal leaves two hours later when the weather clears but makes it a point to visit Bruce from then on. He brings Kryptonian pastries as a thank you the first time he revisits. Next they find themselves discussing their families on Bruce’s porch. The third time Kal accompanies Bruce in grocery shopping. They watch a movie, they go shopping again, they visit the beach. And finally they officially go on a dinner date. A year has passed and togetherness is an assured concept for the next sixty years.

Kal spoons an aged Bruce from behind. “Did you ever think this was meant to be?” he asks.

“I don’t believe in fate,” Bruce responds.

“I didn’t ask that. Some things are beyond fate.”

“Like us?” he chuckles.

“Why not?”

“It is weird that you knocked on _my_ house out of everyone else’s,” Bruce grants him.

“I don’t think we have free will,” Kal shakes his head against the mop of black and ocean scented hair.

“Ever the determinist.”

They’re silent and Kal muses at the years they’ve spent together. He’s barely aged. Bruce is a different story.

Bruce breaks the silence. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Everything.”

And you should know how this ends by now.

  
  
  


**v.**

In the following, a salvaged Krypton is not so kind. It goes to war with Earth in hopes of stripping resources. Kal-El serves as a soldier under General Zod’s stead. He doesn’t find pleasure in killing but he’s thankfully only dealing with military forces. Until one day, in front of Zod no less, he passes a group of survivors to the onslaught. Ones that resist enslavement and openly slander the Kryptonians. The oldest of the group, a man with graying temples and sharp blue eyes, stays quiet.

“Kill them,” Zod orders.

It sounds so careless to Kal. He never grew used to the casual tone it was said in. He takes one step forward and the oldest man begins to plead.

“Wait--my sons, they...they’ve lost so much in these past few days--”

“ _Dad_ ,” a man with tanned skin compared to the others and chin length hair, hisses.

“I know which battles are not worth waging but, _please_ , at least allow them the chance to--”

“Kal! Did I ever retract my order?” Zod sneers.

The younger men grow visibly scared. Kal makes no move. He hadn’t since he heard the word “sons”. He’s aware of the threats being yelled from behind him so he makes slow steps to the oldest man. Kal can’t take his eyes off him and he thinks he’s met him before. When they’re standing face to face, Kal cocks his head to the side and leans in.

There’s a rough and strong hand (not unlike his own) around his neck now. “ _Kill_ them.”

“Br--” he tries to whisper. There’s a wet snap before he can register the twist in the hand wringing him. The last of his senses to leave him is touch. Someone heaves him into their arms, he feels the familiar warmth of a hug and his back to a chest. He doesn’t dream.

  
  
  


**vi.**

And in a turn of events, a sort of practical joke the primordial soup of stars and dust decided to spit out, Clark never meets Bruce. He isn’t named Clark to begin with. He’s raised elsewhere and makes a living traveling the galaxy, landing on planets that need aid but never staying too long. He sits on moons and gazes out through a dark expansion, wondering what he’s looking for and if he’ll ever know when he finds it. He felt lonely on Oa and Rann, Daxam and Thanagar, so he doesn’t quite understand the comfort he feels when he ascends to Terra. 

His feet unintentionally land in what he soon figures is a graveyard. The cemetery is empty save for him. The grass is damp from morning dew. When he turns he immediately sets his sights on the grey headstone just in front of him. It takes a while to decipher what’s written.

_I will meet you in the next life, and in the next, and in the next._

And in its corner is further inscribed:

_Bruce Wayne_

_1974-2017_

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't read Dark Knights: Metal and its accompanying material yet I don't know what you're doing, I'm still not over it ;( Also the fic title is yet another song lyric, "La Vie En Rose" makes me dumb and soft. Constructive criticism is always welcome!


End file.
